Braeden, My Name is Braeden
by Socrates7727
Summary: For years, Braeden never knew anything except the dark room she inhabited and the "clients" who paid to have sex with her. Until, one day, she gets sent out to pick up customers on her own. When she meets a beautiful stranger that no one seems to know anything about, she can't help herself. Will she let him save her? Rating M for later chapters. Trigger warning: rape/abuse.
1. Chapter 1

A.N. This is my first time ever writing from Braeden's POV and I might switch off between her and Derek in later chapters... Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or any of it's characters!

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Braeden can still remember the first time she felt small. Her whole life she'd been competing with her brothers-for attention, for awards, for space, for time. She'd always been weaker and skinnier but she'd never felt small. When they were strong, she was fast. When they were mean, she was devious. She'd always had an upper hand, even if it'd been different from theirs, she'd merely had to learn to use it. But in that room, with the rough fabric of the bed scratching into her skin and the coldness of the air searing the inside of her throat, she'd never felt smaller. When he'd hissed those three words in her face, she hadn't known how used to them she was going to become.

 _You're mine bitch._

She'd screamed and cried and fought back as much as she could manage until the man had blanketed her throat with his large hand. In a single motion that was so effortless she hated it, he'd cut off her entire air supply. As tears streamed down her face, she'd felt herself separate from her body. She wondered vaguely if this was what dying felt like. Maybe her soul would ascend to heaven and she'd never have to face this hell again. She stopped feeling his sweaty hands on her skin, stopped feeling the burning pain deep in her gut as he slammed into her, and stopped feeling the ache in her lungs when they were refused any form of air. She went numb to the feeling of… of what? Of anything, she figured. And when she returned to her body sometime later, a dull throbbing in her stomach and the taste of blood and vomit in her mouth, she still didn't truly feel it. She'd gone numb that day and she'd never fully come back from that.

Now, when they came for her, she obediently stood and followed without a word. She didn't speak much anymore. It was only to the other girls-the new ones, not the ones who were just as well trained as she was-that she sometimes spoke. When one reminded her brothers or of herself and she took pity on them. But it was rare and becoming more and more so. She didn't cry anymore either. Some part of her reasoned that something had happened while she'd been outside her body and it had broken her eyes to the point that she couldn't cry anymore. It wasn't physically possible. That was the easy explanation and she didn't want to think about it long enough to come to any other conclusion.

So when Moretti opened the door and screamed to get back, she didn't move. They had an agreement more or less and he didn't push her if she sucked his dick occasionally. The other girls hated her for it but she didn't care. When he screamed for B, she stood and followed him out the door with her eyes down. That was what they all called her because Braeden was too humanizing and bitch wasn't specific enough. As she followed Moretti, watching her bare feet shuffled on the off white carpet, she wondered what he wanted. It was an odd time of the day for a client-most came at night and lately had started paying to spend the whole night with her, which earned her some leniency-but it was too soon for Moretti's usual favors. If he tried to get her again this soon she was going to just brush him off.

"4C, bitch." Now that they were alone, bitch could only be directed at her and he used it freely, not wanting their power balance to become too close to that dangerous thing they called equality. She walked up to the door without question and knocked on the door-the same three steady knocks she'd had drilled into her since she could remember. That was what was expected, that was what she did.

The man who opened it was tall and skinny but his beard was familiar. Had he fucked her before? She couldn't remember... At this point they all blurred together to the point that she didn't even remember whether it was day or night. Not that it mattered because she never saw outside anymore. She dropped to her knees before he even told her too and ignored his hum of appreciation when he took in her naked body. It wasn't worth it to protest-all it ever got her was punishment. So she sucked, he pulled her hair, she didn't fight him, he fucked her, she made noise when he told her to, he choked her when she did. He came, she didn't. He watched her pull on the oversized shirt she'd gotten to wear from Moretti as compensation with a hungry look in his eyes but she shook her head. It wasn't that she could say no to him, though. She didn't have that kind of power over anyone, especially not a client. It was the clock on the wall, marked special to show hours and forty-five minute intervals because that was the amount of time a person could buy, that told him he was done. Not her.

She let herself lay on the bed for a minute or two longer than she probably should have but she was years past being able to give a damn. When Moretti came to retrieve her, he grabbed her by the collar of his shirt and ripped the material. When that didn't work, he grabbed her by her hair and yanked her into the hall on her knees. She just let him. Back in the room the girls all shared, she curled up in her corner and didn't look any of them in the eyes. Sadie came over at some point and snuggled into her side but she didn't move to accept the girl. She was sweet and only six but Braeden didn't feel like taking care of anyone at the moment-she was sick of taking care of people. That was what they always called what she did: "taking care of the clients". Regardless, she was sick of it. Fuck all of them. Fuck every human on Earth.

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She was woken the next night around when she guessed it was getting dark and pulled out by Moretti but he soon turned her over to a man she didn't know. The way Moretti scuttled around him told her it was a boss. Not that she cared. He gave her clothes to wear and she didn't realize until she was following him diligently again that they were nice clothes-like _nice_ clothes. Skinny blue jeans, boots, a white tanktop, and a black leather jacket. Something about the jacket and the boots felt familiar but she couldn't remember ever being allowed to dress like this. She was lost in that vague sense of something she should remember until they reached a heavy wooden door.

"You're going to work." She didn't nod but her agreement was assumed, because she had no other choice. "You're one of the good girls. You're going to start working bars and clubs for us." She stayed silent but her mind was slowly reeling. Bars? Clubs? Was business getting bad enough to risk letting her escape? Or was did they have that much confidence in their control over her?

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Thanks for reading! Please review, follow, and favorite!


	2. Chapter 2

A.N. and disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or any of it's characters!

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Her first time in a bar, she was beyond nervous. The boss had warned her that he didn't care what she did as long as she came home with at least 750 dollars and, that if she didn't come home? He would find her and make her regret ever living. But it was a bar nevertheless and she felt as out of place as first time clients always seemed to. Nervous, afraid what they were doing was wrong, even if they were the one people were trying to please. She didn't realize she was shaking until she bumped into a young man who was leaving the dance floor.

"Hey! Watch-well, hi there. What's your name?" The kid was younger than she'd expected to find in a bar but she didn't know anything-maybe the drinking age had changed? It didn't really matter. He had bright hazel eyes, though, and a softness to his face that she hadn't seen in a long, long time. It made her homesick but she didn't know what for. She felt like she was looking into the eyes of someone she'd known a long time ago, but too long ago to really remember anything but the feeling he gave her.

"B." She answered, before realizing that that wasn't actually her name. The boy smiled wide and threw an arm around her shoulder, ignoring how violently she flinched and how tense she was under his touch.

"Come hang with us, B! You look like you could use a drink!" She didn't bother telling him that she didn't, and couldn't, drink. He was already whisking her across the dancefloor through the crowd and somehow anchoring her just enough to keep her from having a breakdown.

"My name is Stiles," he said with a grin. "Over there are Scott, Lydia, Kira, and Derek." Against her will, her eyes went in the direction Stiles (what kind of name was Stiles?) gestured in. She saw the three teens who looked like Stiles' kind of crowd but the man with them was something else entirely. He had wide, broad shoulders and a jawline so sharp it could cut her but what caught her most was the way he stood. Confident, but genuine. She couldn't remember ever seeing that genuineness in anyone before, let alone a man. But he turned when Stiles said his name-Derek, as beautiful as he was-and she met his eyes for a second too long.

They were electric. Brown, but not the boring dull brown she was used to. It was a swirling, dancing brown with patterns of gold and blue that spun inwards as if hypnotizing her-but it did relax her. Somehow just meeting the man's eyes put her entire body at ease. She told herself it was because she knew what she was doing with men like that, not kids like Stiles, but something told her that wasn't the reason.

"Hey! Oh my gosh Stiles you've already roped some stranger into our fun?" The redhead flipped her hair but looked at her with something like interest or maybe intimidation? But when the other girl, Kira if she had to guess, started to run up to her and hug her-obviously inebriated-Lydia reached an arm out and stopped her. Lydia gave her what seemed like a little nod but it was too quick to know for sure. Maybe it was an accident but Braeden was grateful. Stiles' touch she could tolerate because he put her at ease somehow but Kira she wasn't sure about yet.

"Derek, come over here!" The man turned and slowly approached but there was an easy grace to the way he moved that made her breathe. It sounded weird but after years of bracing herself, of wincing and biting her lip, she'd gotten used to holding her breath. Now, her breathing was often shallow and uneven just from habit. But somehow, standing here, with Stiles' arm still around her shoulders and Derek's overwhelming presence in front of her, she was breathing normally.

"Everyone, this is B. B, this is everyone." She nodded to them all but didn't speak-her voice felt far too weak to even think of talking about herself. But she caught the way Derek's eyes scanned her body. Was there a chance of him taking her back to his place and being her client for the night? Somehow, she didn't want that. She really didn't want to upset Moretti especially with this new freedom but she didn't want Derek to become that in her eyes-she didn't want to be that in his eyes. What the hell? She was talking like she knew him. Like she hadn't just met him seconds ago and had yet to even hear his voice.

"I'm Lydia, that's Scott-he's a puppy dog-and this is Kira-don't mind her it's her we're celebrating so she's had a few too many shots. Oh, and that's Derek. He doesn't say much and mostly just stands there being creepy but he won't hurt you." She liked the way Lydia talked to her, she decided. Like she saw how uncomfortable and unfamiliar the situation was for her and was trying to walk her through it. And she loved that Lydia phrased every introduction like a threat level assessment. It was the way she was used to thinking and the similarity not only connected her to someone but made her trust the assessments Lydia gave her. Except for one part…

"He's not creepy." She was more surprised at her own voice than anyone else seemed to be but she could have sworn she saw Lydia smirk. Derek's eyes shifted onto her and held her in place, looking like he wanted to rip her clothes off where she stood. It was disappointing, but at least this way she might still keep Moretti happy.

She listened to them talk for a while, more intently than she'd originally planned. Stiles was on break from the local college-they all were, except Derek-and he had a major crush on Lydia. Everyone seemed to know it, including Lydia, but Braeden recognized attraction and figured she was just playing games for the fun of it. Scott and Kira were together, both seeming harmless enough, and they were celebrating a promotion she'd gotten in the campus writing center. Derek had moved with them from their hometown, though she couldn't tell why, and was now a professor at the university. Every time she looked to him, he was staring at her. She couldn't tell but she thought she was beginning to like this game-the fun, the chase, anything other than the expectant way the men looked at her when she stepped into the room with them.

"Wait! B! You can't leave yet!" She hadn't even realized she'd started rushing for the door, the crowded room finally getting to her, until Stiles gripped her arm to pull her back. It was a horrible instinct but… No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop the panic in her chest at the tightness of his grip and she tore her arm from him in under a second and she was running. It was stupid but she had to get away. Let Moretti be mad, she wasn't cut out for this world.

When the air in her lungs finally turned cold, not the hot dampness of other people's breath, she made herself stop and back against the frigid brick wall. Slowly, she sank down to sit on the pavement, not caring that the puddles soaked her pants and underwear. Since when had she been wearing underwear? Maybe that was the weird feeling between her legs she'd kept noticing all night. Regardless, she didn't care anymore. She forced herself to breathe in and out, counting the way she'd learned how to when she was little.

"Hey." If she hadn't been mid-inhale, she would have screamed at the voice from above her. "You doing okay?" She shrugged, not sure how to respond to that really, but he just took the answer. He didn't tell her to get up, or sit down next to her, or even stare her down until she caved. He just stood, leaning against the wall opposite her, and listened to her silence.

"Sorry." Before it was even out of her mouth, she hated the word. For years, all she'd said was sorry and she was sick of that too but it seemed necessary. She hadn't meant to bolt out on them or to hurt Stiles-they all seemed genuinely sweet. But Derek didn't try to punish her or threaten her or even tell her it was okay the way Stiles had.

"No, don't be sorry. I've wanted to get out of there all night and you gave me an excuse." He buried his hands in his pockets and only then did she realize how cold her hands were-she could barely feel them anymore. "So, you doing okay?" She was surprised how much he talked to her, especially compared to the silent man she'd met inside, but she didn't know how to answer.

"Um… yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." He nodded, not the least put off. For at least five minutes, the sat there in silence just breathing in the cold air and listening to the nothingness. She could hear his breathing from where she sat and unconsciously matched her own to it, not realizing he was listening to her heartbeat with equal intensity. Slowly, he inched off the wall to stand again as if he was going to leave.

"Hey, would you like to come with me? You don't seem like you should be alone right now." She shook her head, the thought of going back into that hellhole already making her nauseous, but he wasn't finished. "Not to the party. Maybe back to my place? Or whatever you want, honestly." Somehow, that sounded like the only thing in the world that could help. It was because she was used to being alone with one man, not in a crowd of them, but some part of her screamed that wasn't why, no matter how much she tried to ignore it.

"Okay." He helped her up, somehow not touching her, and led her down the alley towards a sleek black car. Something about him touched her in a way she wasn't used to and wasn't sure if she liked. With him, her breathing was easier. Her heart didn't beat quite so quickly, her hands didn't shake as much, and something inside her was steadier than usual. There was some sort of urge deep in her chest that reached for him, no matter how tightly she held her arms at her sides. It wasn't a feeling or an urge, though, it was too natural.

"Watch your step." When he opened the door for her, she almost walked into him and stepped into a puddle. She wasn't used to this kind of treatment and it was awkward and uncomfortable but not necessarily bad.

"Sorry." But he didn't tell her not to say it or squint at her in anger, despite her going against a direct instruction. She wanted to apologize for apologizing but that, she knew, would upset him and she didn't want this man upset-it was her job to please. The moment she stepped into the car, though, she had second thoughts.

"What is it?" She raised an eyebrow at him and he shrugged. "You're tense, all of a sudden." She sighed, heavily. For some reason she really didn't want to tell him what she was. But if she came home without the money, Moretti would slash her throat without a second of hesitation.

"It's 250 an hour, 750 for the night." It was his turn to raise his eyebrow at her with something like disbelief in his face. He choked back a snort.

"You're a prostitute?" God, she hated the way his voice skirted over that word. Like even saying it was dirty and wrong-then what did that make her? A whore. She sighed and opened the car door to leave.

"Hey, wait." She wasn't sure why but she did wait, she stopped in her seat and stiffened, breathing too shallow for the situation. Something about the commanding tone to his voice made her want to stay and she didn't like it-she wasn't supposed to like the clients or the work, let alone want it.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh at you. I just... You're so genuine." Wait, what? Internally, she whirled on herself and her mind started to reel at a speed she didn't know was possible. Genuine? Of all the things she'd expected him to say there-pretty, insecure, slutty, fragile-but she hadn't expected that. Genuine... She liked the sound of that and she especially liked the way it felt so effortlessly from his mouth. Almost like it was true.

"Thank you..." Why was she suddenly so tempted to sit in that car with him for the entire night, regardless of what Moretti said or did? "You seem nice but I have to go. I have money to bring in." He stared at her, his eyes darkening by the second and a deep, intricate emotion hiding there. It wasn't an emotion-not happiness, not anger, not disappointment-it was emotion itself.

"How much do you need for tonight?" She hesitated. Moretti would be mad at her regardless because he didn't like not having complete control over her but if this man was willing to pay her?

"250 an hour," she recited, eyes locked on his, not really hearing herself. "750 for the night." He nodded slowly, like he was considering. She hated how much she wanted him to say yes, to pay her and not because it would please Moretti but because she didn't want to get out of the car. She didn't want to step out into the cold, damp darkness and try to find another mark when she was so comfortable with this one. Was that bad? At this point, she didn't know anymore.

"What if I just want to spend time with you? Not fuck you..." She winced internally hearing such a harsh phrase from his mouth. It was stupid and reckless but she didn't like how comfortable she already was with him or how much she liked his voice. It wasn't good to be so unguarded with a stranger. But not fuck her? What kind of guy hired a whore just to spend time with her? Was this some kind of test for Moretti?

"I... I don't understand?" The question sounded fake and rehearsed-though it wasn't-but he didn't seem offended by it, only saddened. When he was silent, she started to shift in her seat and pick at her jeans. She didn't want to make him angry or disappoint him. Without a word, he took out his wallet and handed her a small stack of cash-more money than she had ever held in her life.

"You shouldn't be alone right now. And I don't want to be." She stared at the cash in her hands with something like awe as he started the car and began to drive. It was incredibly relaxing to feel his control of the car and his touch on the wheel but she couldn't get over the money she was holding. Was this how Moretti lived? Or the bosses?

"I… I don't understand. Why are you paying me if you don't want to fuck me?" He shook his head, looking angry for some reason she couldn't understand. Had she done that? Asking all those stupid questions must have upset him... Or maybe it was that she was questioning him, not letting him be in control.

"I want to spend time with you, not pay you for sex. If you have a quota to meet or something, though, I'm not going to get you in trouble with your boss." She shivered at the word but wasn't sure why. She didn't have a boss-Moretti had a boss and the bosses had bosses but she didn't-she had an owner. Her life wasn't hers. But could he not see that?

"Why?" He shook his head, his grip on the wheel tightening ever so slightly as he took a corner a little too quickly to be normal or relaxed. She couldn't help feeling like she'd done something wrong. What happened when you pissed off a client outside of the house? Where there was no one to come if you screamed for your life? No one to save your life if need be? Not that anyone would ever come no matter how much she screamed, which was why she'd stopped screaming, but it was still a nice illusion.

"I honestly don't know why." They let silence overtake the car while she waited for whatever their destination was. "Instinct, I guess." If she hadn't been listening so intently, trying to find his breathing and match it to her own, she might not have heard the whispered word that struck deep in her chest. That was the word. That was it.

The one word-the only word-to fit the urge in her gut and in her chest to trust this man, to go with him, to be with him, and to risk everything for him. Instinct was what calmed her, what urged her towards him, and what told her to do whatever it took to stay with him. Instinct was what screamed at her what he was-safety. She didn't know-she'd barely met him-but instinct told her he was safe. Not safe like he wasn't a threat to her, but safe like he could protect her. From what? She wasn't sure. But she somehow knew that he could, and might, actually protect her and that was not something she could resist.

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Thanks for reading! As always, please rate, review, share, and follow!


	3. Chapter 3

AN I do not own Teen Wolf of any of it's characters! Also, all feedback is appreciated! Enjoy!

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For over an hour, Derek just drove. The purr of the engine against the wet pavement ricocheted up into the car and buzzed against her body like a rhythmic lullaby. She was relaxed, she realized, and it wasn't because she was exhausted. Normally, she slept because she had no choice or she slept to escape reality but never had she been so close to sleep out of comfort. Once or twice, she felt his eyes on her but she didn't shift under his gaze. It wasn't uncomfortable, somehow.

"Are you awake?" She wasn't even surprised when she didn't jump at his voice. Something about the soft, gentle firmness of the question was comforting and, even though she'd always flinched at male voices, nothing could surprise her about this man anymore.

"Yes." Slowly, he turned down the radio until she could almost hear his heartbeat over it. The car didn't slow but somehow time did. She felt like it was years before he spoke.

"How old are you, B?" She straightened in the seat but it didn't wake her up any more than his voice did-everything about this situation only relaxed her deeper into the trance she'd fallen into.

"Braeden," she corrected softly, before she even realized what she'd said. "And twenty-ish if I had to guess." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and tilted his head a little to the left in a dazed-puppy look.

"Ish?" She shrugged, sinking further down into the seat as his voice smoothed over the other sounds in her ears. What was she supposed to say? A lie? She didn't want to lie to Derek, even if she was supposed to.

"Yeah, ish... I don't remember anything before the house." He squinted at her from across the car but he felt closer than that-like he was pressed up against her with his arm pulling her into a tight, protective embrace. Just the mental image relaxed her so much that she didn't realize the slip until it was done. She wasn't supposed to talk about her life-especially not the house or anything before it.

"What do you mean you don't remember?" She shrugged, trying to dismiss it. "Like you were too high to remember?" Slowly, she shook her head but it was in a detached way that didn't carry the movement through her body. High? Had she ever been anything but low?

"No, I've never used drugs." Somehow, that only made his attention focus more raptly on her than before. What was with this guy? Even when she explained away one of his many questions, he acted like she'd only created more in its place.

"Then how did you end up as a prostitute? A modelling scam? Stripping?" Again, she shook her head. It didn't even really register that she'd started talking again or that she was sharing way more than she should have been. Was there a rule against that? She couldn't remember... or really care.

"No, no I was too young for any of that." He hesitated and she could feel it, the way his breath hung in the air and stuck to the sides of his throat. But why? What did he care how old she was when she became one of Moretti's whores?

"How young?" he asked softly, slowly, like he was afraid of her answer. Why did it matter, though? Wasn't it common enough for girls to be forced into that kind of work at her age? Back at the house, she'd heard countless stories about South American children trafficked into worse situations at younger ages with less food and less sleep-she should be grateful, right? She shrugged, the silence finally starting to itch under her skin.

"Too young to remember. Maybe eight or nine? I don't know." She hated the way he hissed at that, drawing in a sharp breath and holding it as if that would somehow make the situation make sense. Why was he getting so worked up about this? It wasn't like it mattered. Eight-year-old Braeden didn't handle it any better than eighteen-year-old Braeden would have-she broke regardless.

"I'm sorry." Again, her apology only seemed to anger him more until he was actually gripping the wheel with white fists. She shrunk down in the seat, pulling her legs up to her chest. It was best to just wait him out-wait until he'd calmed down to ask anything-but the way she shrunk in on herself seemed to anger him too. Was there nothing she could do right?!

"Please don't-" She stopped herself, but it was too late. His hand stopped in the air and fell, he'd merely readjusted the mirror, but she'd already flinched halfway across the seat and lifted an arm to shield her face. Instantly, she saw the anger in his eyes. She'd done something wrong again. Slowly, she watched his face fall out of the corner of her eye-barely catching glimpses of his expression like flashes in a strobe light. Her chest seized when she saw his frown and she knew she was about to be punished. She'd taken too many liberties with him, too drunk on the freedom of not being a slave. When he stopped the car, she crouched low and huddled her limbs together in the defensive position one of the other girls had taught her when she was young. Holding her breath, she waited for the first strike. But it didn't come.

"Please sit up" She did, too afraid to straighten completely but oddly entranced by the calm resignation in his voice. Maybe he didn't want to punish her? Maybe this was his way of burying her in shame, knowing that she'd disappointed him and forced him to hurt her like this.

"I'm sorry. I didn't..." She started to hold her breath. "I'm not angry with you, love." In under a second, she changed completely. Her hands dropped to her lap, no longer defensive, and her eyes dared to wander up from the floor to search for his. It wasn't the reassurance that he wasn't angry-she'd heard that before, and she expected the explanation of disappointment and of her punishment-it was the pet name. Love and how easily it fell from his lips and into her body. The way it slid through her muscles and seemed to loosen her joints. The way it slipped around her shoulders and her waist like a protective hug, and the way it settled in her chest like a little beat making her breathe the way she was supposed to.

"I'm not angry with you," he repeated, softening his voice when she flinched at it. "I'm not angry with you. I'm angry at the situation, but not you." She let the breath she was holding out, staring into his eyes as he sighed and seemed to just deflate where he sat. He started to reach for her-maybe for her hand, or to place a hand on her knee-but stopped himself. It dropped limply into his lap, like she'd shot it down midair.

"Please," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the radio's humming. "I can hear your heartbeat. Please don't be afraid of me." She stayed silent, afraid to say anything for fear of saying the wrong thing, and she couldn't let herself move. This didn't feel real. What kind of person apologized to a whore? Comforted or used pet names for whores? Who had ever bothered to explain themselves to her, especially to make her feel better? She wasn't uncomfortable, necessarily, but she was in a very unfamiliar situation and she didn't know how to act or what to say to keep from angering him.

"Braeden... I like your name. It suits you." She just swallowed and gave a little half-nod to show she was agreeing with him. He turned the key in the ignition and cut the engine, sinking into the silence the way she'd sunk into the seat before. As she watched him, timidly because she wasn't sure if he would let her make eye contact, he closed his eyes and relaxed his face. She liked his expression like that, she decided. It wasn't peaceful-even with a relaxed expression he had a tortured quality to him-but it was a soft sort of pain that she recognized. His anger scared her and confused her but that shadowy, not-immediately-obvious sort of pain was familiar. She knew that expression-from her own face, and from others-and it put her at ease. For some reason, she felt like that allowed her to connect to him. Or, maybe, like it allowed her to let go of a little bit of the fear in her stomach.

"May I ask you something?" He nodded, not opening his eyes or raising a hand to discipline her for speaking without permission like she'd expected him to. "Who are you?" Under his breath, he snorted. But it was so quiet in the car that it made her jump. Thankfully, he didn't notice.

"That's a good question." Three beats of silence thwacked against her body before he took in a small breath. "My name is Derek, like they told you, and I teach at the university. You could say I'm a poster child for all kinds of issues: father figures, abandonment, trust, you name it. But, contrary to popular belief, I can care about people. I care about the pack-my friends you met earlier-and I'm..." She waited to make sure he wasn't going to fill in the blank before slowly inching forward in her seat and making a suggestion.

"Protective?" He nodded. His chest rose and fell with a sigh as he rubbed his palms against the rough material of his jeans. Was he anxious? It seemed like he was, but she couldn't understand any reason why he would be.

"Yeah... Protective. Very protective. But only of the few people I've spent years getting close to. And, for some reason, you."

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Thanks for reading! As always please review, follow, and share!

Also, I'm considering an addition to the group... Maybe some Allison/Lydia? Thoughts?


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